<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Devil Went Down to Georgia by galimau, Valaks</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692744">The Devil Went Down to Georgia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/galimau/pseuds/galimau'>galimau</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaks/pseuds/Valaks'>Valaks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alex Rider Drinks Real Sweet Iced Tea, Alex Rider is Not a Good Man, Alex Rider is Saucy, Baste Thanksgiving Gift to the Fandom, But They Are Doing Their Best, Crack Taken Surprisingly Seriously, Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Verse, Gen, It Doesn’t Get Much Butter Than This, Joe Byrne Pecan’t Even With Him, Much Ado About Stuffing, Neither is Joe Byrne, No Really We Surprised Ourselves, Shameless Self Indulgence Via Exploration of Southern Culture, Slow Byrne, Thanksgiving Dinner, Which Is the Only Good Kind of Tea, he hates it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:42:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/galimau/pseuds/galimau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaks/pseuds/Valaks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Retirement had been rough for Joe Byrne. Years of pushing his mind to the breaking point analyzing global trends and threats and suddenly the most stimulating thing he had was a sudoku puzzle and the direct line to the head of SCORPIA that he hadn’t quite had the heart to turn in after years of undisclosed tip offs mixed in with splashes of humor. Not that Rider would give it up either, from everything he knew about him he was isolated and ruthless and got dangerously attached to the people close by. Byrne was one of the lucky few. Which is why he shouldn’t have been surprised when Alex Rider showed up at his door on Thanksgiving day with a bottle of tequila and a smile.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Rider &amp; Joe Byrne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>247</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Inspired Works</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Devil and Joe-hnny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joe looked down when his phone chimed with an alert for an incoming text. He’d take any excuse to not talk to the suit he had gotten stuck with that was “showing him around.”</p><p>‘<em> You can’t find good help these days. </em>’ </p><p>Rider. </p><p>Of course. It wasn’t bad enough to be stuck at an intelligence summit but he had to deal with a mouthy head of a criminal organization too. It was his own fault, really, he hadn’t quite brought himself to shut off the phone number he had given the kid in Murmansk all those years ago. He was glad he hadn’t, it had saved him more than he wanted to admit and honestly he knew he could use some humor in his day, no matter where it came from. </p><p>‘<em> Have you tried not shooting the messenger?’ </em> </p><p>The next chime came before Joe put his phone back into his pocket. Someone was eager.</p><p>‘<em> Anger management is more expensive than a bullet. </em>’ He snorted and the diplomat in the elevator next to him shot him a concerned look. </p><p>‘<em> I have some psychs that would do it for free.’  </em></p><p>‘<em> Room and board free too, I take it? </em>’</p><p>‘<em> Of course, we’re very hospitable. </em>’</p><p>Sometimes setting Alex up for a joke was half the fun, if only because he knew it would bring a smile to the kid’s face and Lord knows he needed it too. The sat images of him lately were...concerning to Joe. </p><p>He could remember the analyst briefings in his sleep, if only because he’d sat through so many of them. Everyone wanted to know what the young Head of SCORPIA was doing, and that included any information they could glean about his mood. Months after taking control of the organization, the whispers Joe was hearing weren’t good. </p><p>
  <em> Physical signs of stress and exhaustion, no physical indicators of personal attachments to strike team as noted in prior observations. Possible fracture in conference of team? Some concerns regarding destabilization.  </em>
</p><p>Not what anyone wanted to see about someone running half the criminal underworld. </p><p>This time, the reply took longer. A full six floors of delay, each number lighting up inoffensively as Joe tried to keep his patience and not let the diplomat know that the head of SCORPIA was making his life harder with every passing moment.</p><p>‘<em> I’ve noticed. Nice hotel room, what has you in Brussels, anyways? Maybe we can grab coffee. </em>’</p><p>Well fuck. </p><p>He shouldn’t be surprised Rider knew where he was, but that told him quite a bit more than he wanted. </p><p>‘<em> Heard about what happened to Reyes in Brazil, would rather share a drink with Putin. </em>’ There. Boundaries were important things to set, especially with terrorists who were still growing their wisdom teeth.</p><p>‘<em> He’s a terrible conversationalist, you’d be in better hands with me” </em> He wasn’t sure if Rider was lying. He wouldn’t put it past him or Putin to have met up recently. “ <em> But no bringing Ronaldo. He just kills any conversation he’s in. </em>’ </p><p>But if that wasn’t a tip-off, Joe didn’t know what was. Despite everything, the kid had a mouth on him. It wasn’t entirely a compliment. ‘<em> Have you considered that you’re the problem? </em>’ </p><p>‘<em> Nah mama said I talk good </em>’ </p><p>That was the fastest reply yet. Interesting.</p><p>‘<em> Your mom is dead, and wrong. </em>’ </p><p>‘<em> Watch yourself or I’ll send you up to meet her so you can say that to her face. </em>’</p><p><em> ‘Don’t threaten me with a good time </em>.’ Joe hadn’t gotten to where he was without more credible threats than vague insinuations about the afterlife. And wasn’t worried about most things that got said in these conversations, even if all common sense argued otherwise.</p><p> ‘😂’ </p><p>An emoji was always Rider’s sign off. </p><p>Fucking kid.</p><p>Joe turned to the diplomat as the doors opened again, just in time to make nice. Then he would get his men on Ronaldo. </p><p>……………………...</p><p>Byrne was used to being shoved into vehicles. This time was no different. He didn’t blink, especially when he heard the crack of bullets on cement and then on reinforced doors, spider-webbed cracks spreading over the windows near his head. Wasn’t the first time and with any luck, it wouldn’t be the last. </p><p>“Get me Troy on the line,” he barked, already considering their options. Setting a perimeter, trying to address the shitshow that was a sniper with a skyscraper-view. How the fuck had he blown security so bad that Byrne was being targeted in Seattle?! And had Trudeau’s fuckup been hit too? They’d left a minute or two prior. Courtesy for the foreign dignitary but Jesus fuck.</p><p>“Well?” He scowled when no one moved. The men shared a look and it was only then that he noticed they weren’t in suits - black ballistics shirts and vests with a silver scorpion stitched on the arm.</p><p>Oh fuck.</p><p>He had been caught.</p><p>By Rider.</p><p>He twitched, drifting down toward his gun. </p><p>“Wouldn’t do that, sir,” the man next to him cautioned, but didn’t lay a hand on him.</p><p>Byrne grimaced and obeyed, laying his hand in his lap instead. The mercenary wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t like Byrne was in a position of power here. Not in this company. </p><p>They usually told people to go along with political abductions, not to make a fuss that could end in an international political incident. Somehow Byrne had never imagined that it would apply to him.</p><p>The grim look on his face must have said more than a hundred words, because a silent ripple went around the car. The same operative as before - <em> team lead or tapped for diplomacy - </em> nodded at the door. It lacked a lock or handle on the inside, but Byrne was going to be generous and assume that SCORPIA was having trouble affording vehicle repair rather than a purposeful threat.</p><p>“We’ll be letting you off in the garage of the FBI building in just a few minutes, sir.” </p><p>In different company, Byrne would have rolled his eyes. He’d almost rather stay with them, honestly. Being abducted by terrorists and left at Forman’s doorstep? He’d never live it down.</p><p>“Then what the hell does Rider want?”</p><p>“You safe, sir.” There was no hiding just what the man thought of <em> that </em>. With more emotion in his voice, an accent had also crept in at the edges. One of theirs?</p><p>“If he wanted me safe, then he wouldn’t have had me shot at,” Byrne said, fishing.</p><p>“Wasn’t us. We wouldn’t have missed.” </p><p>The man clearly wished that he had been the one with the order. Definitely one of theirs. Must have really fucked up on this one.</p><p>“Then who the hell was it?”</p><p>“Hart took the contract.”</p><p>Great, so he was in the middle of a pissing match between criminal organizations. </p><p>“And I’m supposed to believe this is out of Rider’s heart of gold?” Byrne refused to acknowledge the play on words. That might hint that the Head’s sense of humor was contagious, and that was something he didn’t want to consider.</p><p>“Believe what you want. He just told us to tell you: ‘the retirement age is sixty five for a reason.’” </p><p>Rider would, the fucking brat. </p><p>His phone dinged and he looked to the man next to him.</p><p>“Slowly,” he ordered, voice flat. Byrne refrained from giving him an equally irritated stare, reminding himself that hotheads with guns were hardly unique to Rider’s men. </p><p>And speak of the devil… </p><p>
  <em> ‘You’re welcome for the lift, Uncle Joe’ </em>
</p><p>Byrne scoffed under his breath. Official confirmation that he was out of hot water, more or less.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Didn't know you took over Uber. Might want to look into some customer service training.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Sorry the ride isn’t to your liking. You can take it out of their tip.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘How much is this going to cost me?’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Favor owed.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘We don’t negotiate with terrorists.’ </em>
</p><p>‘😂🤣😂’</p><p>Alright. So maybe he deserved that.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Could’ve saved us both the trouble by giving me a heads up.’  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘I got some bullshit form email about you being out of the office. And I didn’t trust your people to do their fucking jobs.’  </em>
</p><p>Nothing to say to <em> that </em> given he had been shot at and abducted on his own turf. Speaking of -</p><p>
  <em> ‘Any chance I can change the destination?’ </em>
</p><p><em> ‘No. The route is secure. No unplanned deviations.’ </em> Rider had done some planning on this then. ‘ <em> And I don’t negotiate with terrorists.’ </em></p><p>This. Fucking. Kid. </p><p>‘<em> Besides, I owe the FBI for getting me started back in Miami. Wouldn’t be where I am today without them, seems only fair I give them a thank you present.’  </em></p><p>Just what he needed, another reason to hate his ‘sister’ agency.</p><p>
  <em> ‘12 years later?’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Better late than never. Might want to keep that in mind for my birthday present, it was 2 months ago but I don’t hold grudges.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Hard to send you one when I don’t know where you are’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘If you want to visit then just say the word, would spare you the FBI.’  </em>
</p><p>Tempting. </p><p>
  <em> ‘The Feds are better company.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘I’ll remind you of that when I get a hold of Forman’s debrief on all of this.’ </em>
</p><p>He’d have it too. Wouldn’t be the first time Rider had sent him ‘classified’ documents for a laugh. Byrne didn’t bother with a response. Best to let the kid have the last word this time. Wasn’t like his pride couldn’t afford to take another hit after all of this.</p><p>---</p><p>Joe spun the phone on the polished glass of his desk topper. He’d been at it for 5 minutes as he debated making the phone call. He wasn’t one to leak intel but this was one of those many times that he had to weigh the ‘right’ thing - America's interests in a terrorist off the street or international stability? That there was more personal reasons didn’t matter. </p><p>He dialed.</p><p>The call picked up after a ring and a half. Byrne didn’t hesitate. Last thing he wanted was the kid asking questions about <em> why. </em>“How’s Alexandria?” </p><p>“Wouldn’t recommend it for a retirement home if that’s what you’re asking.” Well Rider certainly was in a mood.</p><p>“I wasn’t.”</p><p>“For starters the traffic’s killer.” Squealing tires told him all he needed to know. </p><p>“The French always were awful drivers.” He didn’t know why it was important that Rider knew that he didn’t have anything to do with this. Probably because the last time someone had gone for him the ISI had gotten a chance to remodel their headquarters and he had become quite partial to Langley.</p><p>“Americans aren’t much better.” Byrne didn’t think he was imagining the tension in Rider’s voice. It plainly wasn’t a good time to be on the wrong side of the law. That should have made him feel better than it did. “If you’re looking to retire you should really stick with Florida, heard they have plenty of assisted living homes there and it was nice when I visited last week.” </p><p>“Should have let me know, we could have grabbed a Dolphins game.”</p><p>“Don’t watch handegg. And you’re a Cowboys fan.” There was a loud explosion in the background and muffled cursing in….Swahili?</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“You worried?” Rider shot back just as quickly.</p><p>Byrne closed his eyes and resisted the urge to rub his temples. This had been a mistake. He had hoped to catch the kid before the attack but obviously his intel was just as good as Rider’s.</p><p>There was a rustling and he could barely make out the words</p><p>“...<em> could be using the signal to </em>…”</p><p>“<em> Alright. Fine, </em>” Rider snapped but it was muffled and after a few seconds and some static the line went clear again. “I have to go.” </p><p>“Wait.” He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. But he’d come this far.</p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Maybe skip the docks, they’re a bit of a tourist trap this time of year.”</p><p>There was a beat of silence. He pulled the phone away to see if Rider had hung up but the seconds ticked on. </p><p>He almost missed the quiet: “Thanks, Uncle Joe,” before the line went dead. </p><p>He set the phone down. What happened from here was the kid and his team’s problem. He’d done what he could, he wouldn’t necessarily say it was the right thing but he had stopped trying to pick apart right from wrong it didn’t work in his line of work. Around Alex Rider, even less.</p><p>----</p><p>Years of texting under the table, the odd scattered phone call. Always for their mutual interest - the strange balance of international relations that meant the CIA was better served by SCORPIA being present and stable than wiped off the map. </p><p>But aside from a few meetings in an official capacity where they did their level best to pretend they’d never met, this was the first time they’d met in person without babysitters hovering over them. </p><p>Made sense that it would be with an overpriced hotdog in his hand and the home team behind.</p><p>Next to him, Rider chewed the straw of his blue raspberry slushie. He hadn’t taken a sip yet, and Joe doubted that he would. No matter his thoughts on terrorists, it wasn’t a kind life the kid had signed up for. </p><p>Byrne took a bite, and didn’t mind the smear of mustard on his chin. For once, he wasn’t in a suit. It was his day off, the sun was shining, and if Rider was going to crash his ball game then he could be the one to open this can of worms.</p><p>And sure enough, Rider eventually started talking, frowning at the field. If he wasn’t a fan of ‘hand egg’, Joe doubted he was getting much out of baseball.</p><p>“Why did you save me?” </p><p>“Didn’t want the instability,” Joe answered easily. It had the benefit of being mostly true. “What’s your excuse?” </p><p>“Same,” Rider said. </p><p>Well at least they were on the same page. </p><p>----</p><p>Byrne tucked the Christmas card into the file carefully, not taking any chances with a corner poking out. Certain things you just didn’t want to get ruined. He would swear up and down that he wasn’t a sentimental man, but keepsakes had their place. </p><p>The place for this one was in a manila folder, in the bottom drawer of his desk, with the lock double-checked.</p><p>Lottie, comfortable in the reading chair that she’d claimed as her territory in the ‘home office’ watched the small ritual with what could only be skepticism.</p><p>“Who’s that from?” </p><p>Joe waved his wife off, shuffling his papers to try and distract her. It hadn’t worked yet in twenty seven years of marriage, but he figured there was always a chance. Optimism was a requirement to get through the day in his line of work. “Just someone from work.”</p><p>She hummed, looking back down to her magazine. “Oh? Did you bring home the President’s card this year?”</p><p>Joe hadn’t been on ‘keeping card’ terms with the President since the number of missed national security briefings climbed into the double digits. Lottie knew that, because she’d been the one to listen to Joe grumble about having to make nice with someone who wouldn’t either step back to let the agency get on with business or sit down and shut up to learn something. </p><p>“No, why?” He asked, heading over to the rack in the corner to tug off his jacket. “Was I supposed to be angling for a party invitation?”</p><p>“Just wondering who could be more important than him.”</p><p>“The White House one is stamped, not even signed,” he defended himself. Not that Rider’s was much better - it wasn’t exactly heartfelt, and it was an obnoxious color to top it off. Joe should have locked it away on account of good taste alone.</p><p>“Mmmhhmm.” Another hum, more doubtful than the last. </p><p>Joe couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure he believed himself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Devil Went Down to Georgia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Retirement hadn’t exactly been kind to Joe Byrne. Years of pushing his mind to the breaking point analyzing global trends and threats and suddenly the most stimulating thing he had was a sudoku puzzle. It wasn’t surprising to anyone when he started going on the college lecture circuit. Anything to keep his mind occupied. Getting called in on occasion for a second opinion didn’t hurt either. </p><p>But <em> this </em>was one of the definite upsides of getting his life back - getting to have a life at all, really. </p><p>Hosting Thanksgiving and just being here. Fully present. No phones set out, no emergency car idling at the ready outside, no worrying about the safety of the free world. Just him and his family. It was the first time they would be hosting any holiday for the whole family since his career had taken off thirty years ago. </p><p>His wife was thrilled and had gone all out. </p><p>He couldn’t really blame her. </p><p>Not after years of feeding his own security detail and never getting to have her own husband enjoy it with more than a distracted “it’s good”. She had tolerated that for <em> years </em> , had grown used to having their life shaken up by midnight phone calls and weeks of pushing off coming home because <em> ‘something came up’ </em>and her having to accept that description because she would (hopefully) never find out what “something” was. Any other woman would have left him long ago. There weren’t many in his field that stayed married. Some for safety, some for jealousy, but Joe had had Lottie: through administration changes and scandals and assassination attempts and had never once blinked an eye. </p><p>He loved her for that and so many other things. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give her a hard time.</p><p>“Good Lord, are you trying to feed an army?” Joe asked, staring at the kitchen. Until the cooking was done, he wouldn’t be allowed back in it. Not unless he was needed to carve the bird, and even then that would likely happen at the table. Between the casseroles on cooling racks and the stovetops all occupied, there wasn’t much space for him anyways. </p><p>It was a miracle there was room for Lottie, much less his mother who had gone to ‘rest her feet’ but was doubtlessly waiting to spring up and drive him away again. </p><p>“Don’t let your mother hear you taking the Lord’s name in vain,” his wife said, swiping a finger over the back of a wooden spoon, squinting at the sauce. Lottie had a point with that, Joe could admit. “But <em> no </em> , I am cooking for your <em> family </em> and the security detail <em> outside… </em>”</p><p>And that was a fight they had many a time when his wife hadn’t wanted to accept that his security forces were there to do their jobs, not be mothered and fed. In retirement, Joe had thrown up his hands and stopped trying to persuade her otherwise. If Lottie wanted to spend her time packing up tupperware for Secret Service men, then Joe wasn’t about to complain. </p><p>“Still seems a bit much” he murmured, half expecting to get ignored but as much as his hearing was degrading Lottie’s was sharp as ever. </p><p>“I won’t have anyone walking away from <em> my table </em> with an empty stomach, Joseph Byrne. Unless you want to be the volunteer.” Lottie wouldn’t allow it but the threat was there before he could respond, the doorbell cut through the house. He looked to her in silent question and she shook her head. </p><p>Everyone was here and he had his phone on him so surely it wasn’t anyone from work...well, the Agency as his wife kept trying to remind him. A glance at his phone confirmed that there was nothing.</p><p>“Not them?”</p><p>“No.” </p><p>Which was just as well, Lottie might kill him if he missed the meal. No assassin needed. </p><p>“Any idea…?”</p><p>“None,” he said. The bell came again and along with it a call from Dennis to get the door.</p><p>“I got it!” He called back, pushing down the dread he felt. Joe was never one for surprises. But he had a security team and there hadn’t been any gunshots or sounds of a scuffle. For all he knew it could be someone from church stopping by for one of Lottie’s baking projects. He wouldn’t put it past them. </p><p>He picked his way through the hall stopping as Jesse ran under his feet, giggling. “No running in the house!’ He chided but didn’t really have any heat in it, not when he was debating whether to grab the gun from the banquet table in the foyer. He settled for no. Assassins didn’t knock in his experience, let alone ring the bell. </p><p>The bell rang a final time just as he hit the door, and he hurriedly unlatched the deadbolts. They were more for his wife’s peace of mind than any <em> real </em> security. But if it helped her sleep at night in a house that had been far too empty far too much of the time then who was he to object. </p><p>He pulled it open without even checking to see who it was and quickly regretted it the moment he was met with an all too familiar face. </p><p>“Are they dead?”</p><p>“It’s <em> Thanksgiving.” </em>Rider sounded scandalized at the very idea. Which was insulting given what he had been up to last Christmas. </p><p>Reportedly. </p><p>“You don’t even celebrate it.”</p><p>“First time for everything,” he shrugged.</p><p>Byrne glossed over it. The kid had never heard of a rhetorical question before, he was sure of it. Or maybe he was just a mouthy brat to him. It was possible. He had read the analysis from some of their sister agencies they certainly looked far more cautiously at communicating with him. He had spit out his coffee when the German analysis had listed him as ‘reserved’. Rider had found it funny too because he had gotten a copy of that part stapled to the back of a tacky tourist postcard dropped by the federal building in Miami. He had even waved at the camera. </p><p>“And where’s my team?” </p><p>“They decided to play cards with my team. Thanksgiving tradition, I hear.”</p><p>“Very sensible of them.” He said dryly, he could only picture what that “decision” had looked like. </p><p>“I couldn’t agree more. They have a lot to bond over, George and Adams were both in the Marines once upon a time. Always good to bring people together over the holidays.” </p><p>This fucking kid.</p><p>“You know they have a panic button”</p><p>Rider gave him a lazy smile. “Oh, I don’t think we have to worry about that. Didn’t want any party crashers, you know, very rude to drop by unannounced.”</p><p>“Speaking of, is there a reason you’re here? As a reminder I <em> am </em> retired.”</p><p>“I know,” he sounded more put out than he had any right to. </p><p>“Not a fan of Pompeo?” The look he got back could melt steel. Byrne couldn’t exactly blame him. </p><p>One of Pompeo’s first acts was to try and bring things ‘in house’ to curtail the spending to organizations like SCORPIA. That had lasted all of a year before he had come crawling back to Byrne to discuss how to get SCORPIA on a blown op. Privately, he imagined that many of the leaks that had blown the cover off of some of the seediest things Pompeo had done in house had come from Rider, but he didn’t have any proof besides the sharp gleam in his eye at the meeting Byrne arranged as a courtesy. </p><p>“He’s an idiot.”</p><p>“He’ll learn.”</p><p>“Common sense isn’t exactly something you pick up overnight.” </p><p>“Just be patient,”Joe said and then sighed as his mind caught up with his mouth. He couldn’t believe he was comforting the head of a terrorist organization about his replacement. “Is that all? I do need to get back to my family...”</p><p>“According to the tickets to the Braves Game two years ago, we <em> are </em> family.” </p><p>Byrne shot Rider an unimpressed look.</p><p>“I played my part, even when you made me do the hand thing!” He objected to the silent judgment, miming the tomahawk chop. Byrne did his best not to shake his head at that. He knew Rider was baiting him, but sometimes…</p><p>“Joey,” he heard from inside and then felt the telltale throb near his temple of an oncoming migraine. “You didn’t tell me you’d invited company.” </p><p>“Merry Thanksgiving, ma’am,” Rider called back.</p><p>Byrne glared at the smiling terrorist on his doorstep. </p><p>“Oh aren’t you so darling, what’s your name dear?” Lottie cooed, plainly taken in by his dimples. It should be a high crime for someone with a bounty like Rider’s to look this angelic. </p><p>“I’m Alex - I used to work with Uncle Joe.”</p><p>Well. That was a way of phrasing it. </p><p>“Well, <em> Alex, </em>” Joe said, keeping his body in the open doorway, “it’s nice of you to stop by. But I’m afraid-</p><p>“Take your shoes off before you come inside,” Lottie cut him off. An elbow was jabbing into his side, his wife plainly not pleased with this sudden rudeness. “We’re glad to have you.”</p><p>Alex smirked at Byrne and toed off his loafers. They were added to the stack, just inside the front door. Joe didn’t miss the socks that were, unsurprisingly, just as tacky as he was. </p><p>“Right to Bear Arms. Hysterical.” </p><p>“I was trying to fit in.” Alex said, utterly unapologetic. He gave a little wriggle of his toes just to drive the message home.</p><p>Lottie beamed, face wrinkling up with the size of her smile to have another guest. Joe looked at her, the light catching in her silver hair and the smear of flour across her cheek. After being assured that Alex didn’t need any refreshments she was turning on her heel to hurry back to the kitchen. This close to serving, nothing could be left unattended for long. </p><p>Joe watched her go and felt his heart land in his throat for the second time in just a few short minutes. He’d forgotten this feeling since leaving the field. A discovery he’d have been happy to do without.</p><p>“You don’t actually have a gun do you?” </p><p>“Do I need one?” Rider asked, brows raising. Those dimples were back, tucked at the corner of his mouth. </p><p>He was a good kid. Or he had been, and Joe was trusting in that to see this through. No one lasted in their world by being a good person, but who you were at the core mattered. The shades of grey were vanishingly small, but important. </p><p>“How Gregorovich didn’t kill you the first moment you opened your mouth is a mystery to me,” Joe said, stepping aside and gesturing Alex into the living room. He peered around at the cluttered surroundings - the couches and overstuffed arm chairs, the stools and cushions dragged in from the rest of the house for the kids to sit on. Remnants of morning coffee sitting out next to an abandoned game of Monopoly. </p><p>Joe had been banned from playing, following complaints that <em> ‘hostile takeovers aren’t allowed’ </em>.</p><p>“Criminals usually aren’t the most sane, to be fair,” Alex joked.</p><p>“That’s not what you want to remind me of,” Joe warned him. Mostly joking. </p><p>Alex nodded, and held his hands up. The universal sign for ‘I come in peace’, and it settled Joe’s nerves even further. </p><p>“I brought a gift,” were the next words out of the kid’s mouth. Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, drawing out a brown paper bag, wrapped in twine. “Can you believe they carded me? I had to remember which ID-”</p><p>“Put that away,” Joe hissed, quickly stepping back in front of Alex. This time, less to bar his way and more to keep <em> him </em>safe. “We don’t drink.”</p><p>“But your wife likes tequila,” Alex protested quietly, secreting the liquor away without hesitation anyways. You couldn’t deny that the boy had a good head on his shoulders. Or that he’d done his research. Joe knew plenty well that Lottie liked a warm sip on cold nights. </p><p>“My mother doesn’t,” he answered firmly.</p><p>Alex’s eyes went wide, glancing around the living room, as if expecting a ninety year old woman to spring out from around the corner, steely glint in her eye. </p><p>“Follow me,” Joe said. “I’ll show you where you can put your coat.” </p><p>Everything else had been safely tucked away in his office. No one else was allowed in without him, not even Lottie. That rule hadn’t relaxed with his retirement, and it was the safest place in the house to store contraband. Far better than his sister’s strategy of beneath the bed two years ago, which had seen their mother putting an expensive vintage into the trash, muttering under her breath about disrespecting the bodies she and the Good Lord had given them. </p><p>Alex took the hint gracefully and followed Joe into his office without a word of complaint. If anything, he looked far too interested at the heavy lock on the door and stacks of paper still on the desk.</p><p>“Don’t let your eyes wander too far,” Joe said, voice dry. “None of these are current, anyways.” </p><p>“It’s important to learn from the past.” He murmured in a tone far too considering for comfort, Alex peering at a manilla folder that had a carefully blacked-out label. </p><p>In spite of the natural prickle of defensiveness, Joe wasn’t too worried. Anything the Agency needed had been taken back when he’d retired, and if Rider was relying on years-old minutiae then SCORPIA wouldn’t be the threat that they were. </p><p>It wasn’t Byrne’s worry now, anyways. </p><p>“You can put your gift anywhere,” Joe said. The few other forbidden refreshments had been stowed on the floor, just out of sight of the open door. “Charlotte will be thrilled to have it once the guests leave.”</p><p>Alex hesitated, fingers flexing around the wrapped bottle. </p><p>“It’s not… I didn’t mean to make things difficult.” </p><p>He sounded uncertain, younger than his age, and despite himself Joe grinned at him. Small wonder that someone like Rider was in over his head in a place like this. </p><p>“You didn’t. Your information was good- but it’s better to keep that from my mother. Her old Baptist heart couldn’t stand the scandal.”</p><p>From the look on the kid’s face, that didn’t clear anything up for him. </p><p>Joe waved a hand, shooing him back out of the office now that he’d put the bottle down.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it. We should be getting to the table anyways.”</p><p>Alex went readily, moving down the hall with a boneless grace that Joe recognized from surveillance videos of other top operatives. He doubted that Alex even knew he was doing it by now. </p><p>“I can stay?” Voice smaller than Joe had heard it in… over a decade. And despite all the bravado of the day so far, he was suddenly sure that if he put his foot down now, Alex would nod and slink out the door with a polite excuse and never mention this again. </p><p>Joe reached out and grabbed his elbow, grip soft. </p><p>The house was filling with the noises of Thanksgiving dinner reaching the table. Clinking glasses and the sound of heavy serving dishes being set down, Joe’s siblings hollering for the kids to come to the table, chairs scraping over the hardwood floors. Any holiday in their household was carried out with just as much precision as any military operation Joe had overseen.</p><p>But this needed saying. </p><p>“I wouldn’t have let you in if I didn’t mean for you to stay. Don’t make me regret it.” </p><p>Everyone that Joe had first wanted to protect was in the next room over. This was a lot of trust, but he wanted to believe that Alex was worth it. </p><p>From the small smile that broke over his face, the odds were better than Joe would have first thought. </p><p>They entered the dining room together, Joe heading to the head of the table, nodding Alex over to the empty seat at his left hand. Lottie was in her place to his right, keeping order at the table with a stern stare at the people eyeing the basket of rolls. </p><p>“You’re just in time for grace,” she said, offering her hand as Joe sat down. He took it thankfully, squeezing her fingers in his. Soft skin, wrinkles just starting on the back of her hand. The line of their wedding band between them. </p><p>There was only time for a shared smile before Joe reached out to Alex at his other side, who only stared at him with wide eyes. </p><p>“I’ve, uh… I’ve never prayed.” </p><p>
  <em> This kid.  </em>
</p><p>Lottie smiled at him from across the table. “You don’t have to say it, Joe will lead the prayer.”</p><p>“He might get struck by lightning, given his track record,” Joe muttered. He was rewarded by Alex taking his hand.</p><p><em> “Joseph </em>. He is a guest. If you’re not going to be nice, you can go sit with your security team.”</p><p>“Might be better company,” Joe said. This time, it was his brother who snorted, rather than Alex. A good reminder that even in light of strange guests, family was always the best source of drama. “Before we get started let’s go around the table. Three things, y’all know the drill.” </p><p>“Alex doesn’t, dear.” Lottie’s reminder was gentle, but the sudden grip on his fingers was anything but. “It’s a bit of a tradition for us to say three things we’re grateful for,” Lottie smiled as she explained.  </p><p>“Why don’t you start?” Joe asked.</p><p>That seemed to catch Rider off guard, which was his intention because given time he was sure Alex would come up with something terrible. Best to nip that in the bud. </p><p>Alex blinked then just as quickly picked up the thread of the tradition. </p><p>“Uncle Joe’s retirement, Uncle Joe’s replacement, and all of the people who helped me along the way.” </p><p>Good, solid answers. Joe could work with that he opened his mouth to direct Elsie Gaye to go next but then Rider was talking again. “Well, I guess all of those are the same thing, so two more: family wherever you find them,” Lottie squeezed Joe’s hand at that, and he tried not to react to the blatant attempt at winning his wife over. “And the overwhelming competence of the CIA in protecting America’s interests domestically and abroad,” Alex finished with aplomb.</p><p>Aunt Earlene nodded solemnly. “Mmhmm. Amen to that.” </p><p>A ripple of agreement went around the table, with a few notably silent exceptions.</p><p>Byrne wanted nothing more than to slap the pleased smile right off of Rider’s face. </p><p>But then it was his sister’s turn, and he had to settle for a scolding squeeze. <em> Play nice. </em></p><p>From the way Alex ducked his head to turn that smile down to his plate, there was little chance of that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Thanksgiving, Y’all! We hope you enjoy this wholesomeness and it fills you up with all that good warm fluff!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sit Down In That Chair Right There</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All things considered the meal was going over well. Perfection couldn’t be asked for, not when everyone had such strong… opinions but… well enough. His wife did not seem to agree. She had kept her eye carefully on Alex, not out of any mistrust but more… assessing. Alex for his part looked like a kid in a candy store. The very formula of a Thanksgiving meal made this perfect for him - passed plates and bowls meant no poison or at least very little risk even if he did only eat after he watched a few others sample it. </p><p>Lottie’s eyes were locked specifically on the untouched drink cup. </p><p>“Forgive my bad manners,” Lottie cut in over the din of conversation, long after everyone settled into their meal. “What would you like to drink, dear?” </p><p>Alex seemed startled, eyes cutting to his full glass of water. The thought that he’d already been <em> given </em> something to drink was written clear as day on his face - not the kid’s fault that he was too jumpy to drink anything that had been poured for him. Joe couldn’t even blame him for it. </p><p>“Coke, please.” </p><p>At least he had manners. That was refreshing given when Byrne usually dealt with from him.</p><p>“What kind?” Alex looked startled by the question and Byrne hid a smile behind his own glass of tea. Oh this would be entertaining. </p><p>“Just a Coke?” He tried tentatively.</p><p>“Pepsi good?” She smiled and something akin to horror flashed across the kid’s face.</p><p>“Actually… do you have tea?” </p><p>“Of course, I’ll grab you a glass, dear.” Lottie swept into the kitchen and Rider leaned closer. </p><p>“A <em> glass </em>?” </p><p>This would make it almost worth it. Almost. </p><p>“Buckle up, kiddo, you’re about to get a taste of the South.” </p><p>“It’s not too late to run is it?” Byrne thought he was kidding. Thought. He couldn’t be quite sure. </p><p>“You really want to cross the woman who married me?” Alex settled back down in his seat. “If only I had known that would scare you.” </p><p>“Women are terrifying,” Alex said plainly. Byrne couldn’t agree more.</p><p>Apparently neither could Earlene. “Smart boy you got here.”</p><p>Alex flushed at the attention. </p><p>“Smart mouth, more like,” Joe only to get a swift kick from Alex under the table. </p><p>It wasn’t the worst he could deal out, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He doubted Alex had ever been taught to truly pull his punches. </p><p>Byrne eyed his untouched glass and leaned a little closer, this wasn’t a question for prying ears, no matter how interested the rest of the table seemed to be. He had grown up in a family of gossips - the only difference was he was better at keeping his secrets. It was no wonder he was the one who went into intelligence work.</p><p>“Are you <em> actually </em> going to drink the tea?” Alex shot him a dry look. He should have known. “Why don’t you at least try some,” he huffed, reaching into one of the wicker odds and ends baskets and nudging over the tabasco sauce to pull out a paper-wrapped straw. </p><p>Alex stared at it suspiciously then dug into his own pocket to produce his own straw - camo printed and made of silicone. Bulky. Probably one to test for common poisons. Wonder why he didn’t break it out earlier, probably because he knew Byrne well enough to know that he could access the good stuff to get around it.  </p><p>Joe took another, pointed, sip of glass just to show that it was safe and then passed it over to Alex. </p><p>He sunk the straw in, ice rattling around it and took a sip. Joe watched with rapt attention as his nose scrunched up and he looked at the cup with betrayal in his eyes. </p><p>“So what do ya’ think, kid?” He asked just loud enough to catch some attention. </p><p>Alex hesitated, no doubt trying to be diplomatic. It didn’t come naturally to him. “It’s really… uh… sweet.” </p><p>“Clue’s in the name kid,” Uncle Barry replied with a chuckle.</p><p>“Now he ain’t from round here Barry, you lay off of him,” Elsie Gaye snapped, shooting him a glare. All in their sixties and none of them had stopped picking at the others. Joe sometimes wondered how his Mama had survived bringing them up.</p><p>Alex hesitated then took another sip and shook his head pushing it away. </p><p>“I’ll go let Lottie know to skip the glass. Maybe we have a can of something for you,” Byrne said. </p><p>“It’s fine, really.”</p><p>Byrne shot him a wry look. No way in hell he was explaining to the kid’s team that he had passed out from dehydration on <em> his </em> watch. He eyed the still full water glass and sighed, he couldn’t believe was about to do this. Alex jerked just a little as he reached across him to grab the glass and, making careful eye contact again took a long sip.</p><p>Then set it back down in front of him. </p><p>Alex frowned but rescued his straw from Joe’s drink and tentatively took a sip, swirling it around in his mouth looking for any suspicious flavors and was content when he found none, taking another grateful pull. </p><p>That was his cue to get up and stop Lottie, he’d rather Alex stay in her good graces. Not accepting her hospitality was a sure fire way to get out of them. “I take it you’ve worked with Joe before?” Barry asked and he closed his eyes, reminding himself that Alex had probably endured worse interrogations with far greater stakes. </p><p>“We used to, back before he <em> finally </em> retired. Thought I’d get the invitation for his funeral on his letterhead with how much he was in the office.” </p><p>Joe heard an agreeing hum at the end of the table from his mother. This was definitely not a conversation he wanted to get dragged into. </p><p>“Anyone need anything while I’m up?” It probably wouldn’t do anything to save Alex from what was to come, but it might help. There was a series of murmured nos if anyone responded at all and then he stepped into the hallway, keeping an ear to the door.</p><p>“You seem a bit… young to know Joe. He usually brings around a bunch of old big wigs.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m a contractor. We met early on-” That was one way to put it. “-and Joe’s been kind of a mentor to me ever since I got started. Really couldn’t have done it without him.” </p><p>He was sure to the rest of the table it sounded sweet and kind but Joe could practically hear the smug satisfaction behind that. </p><p>“You know it’s rude to eavesdrop.” </p><p>Joe jumped and clutched at his chest dramatically. He was only compensating a bit. That woman could move like a ghost when she wanted. “Bout scared me half to death, Lottie-love.”</p><p>She shot him an unsympathetic look. “You could use the cardio.”</p><p>He didn’t even bother with a response not when she was in a mood like that. “You can scrap the tea, he’s gotten into his water finally.”</p><p>“You’re sure, dear? I know how you types are, we do have some cans in the fridge outside...” He supposed it wasn’t odd that she would consider Alex one of ‘his types’ given their familiarity but he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at that tone of voice. </p><p>“You’re up to something, woman, I’m not sure what, but something.”</p><p>“The only thing I’m up to is being away from <em> my </em> table where I <em> should </em> be enjoying my family instead of catching my husband eavesdropping.”</p><p>Sometimes it was best to just let things slide. He held the door open for her and winced when he realized what the conversation had turned to. His work had always been a powder keg and Alex… really didn’t know any better.</p><p>“ - just glad when he retired. He really did a lot of good work but...he deserved a break.”  </p><p>“Shame he hasn’t been doing anything with it.” Lottie smiled good naturedly. A deflection, she had become quite good at them after years at his side. That they were at his expense only disarmed everyone all the more. “Besides giving me a hard time that is.” </p><p>“It’s the hard life,” Joe replied, pushing in her chair before taking his own. “The college circuit. Failing to write a book. Pure torture,” he joked without thinking, and then immediately regretted it. Nothing like touching on a few raw nerves to finish dinner on a high note. </p><p>“Well it’s not like you would know anything about torture, <em> right </em>, Uncle Joe?” Alex asked with a grin that was much more genuine than some others around the table.</p><p>Joe tensed, feeling Lottie bearing up beside him. They had been through the whole ‘enhanced interrogation’ shitshow together and it had been no more easy on her than it had on him. The protests, and signs, the Church members who wouldn’t even <em> look </em> at her let alone talk to her. But there was no way Alex would have known anything about that. </p><p>He had been a child back then. As an adult, his perspective on the matter was understandably skewed. It wasn’t as if Alex hadn’t been tortured himself if the reports were anything to go off of. </p><p>He couldn’t have known that he’d just pulled the pin on a figurative grenade of the family. Unfortunately, the blow back would be on him and while Alex Rider was not one to shy away from such things, he had no idea what was coming for him. </p><p>That didn’t stop Joe from trying to head it off. He gave Lottie’s knee a gentle squeeze to calm her down but she didn’t settle in the least, her lips thinning tightly, leaving Alex who was shrinking back in his chair as the silence dragged on looking between them in alarm. </p><p>“We do not talk politics around this table, Alexander John Rider,” Lottie said as she primly cut the turkey on her plate. Her tone didn’t hold anything but brisk admonition, and none of the family reacted much at all, but Joe felt each of those three names like a blow to the head. </p><p>He blinked and looked to Alex who was staring at her in wide-mouthed shock. He probably hadn’t had anyone use his full name in a decade or more, depending on whether the reports of his “childhood” were true. His mouth eventually clicked closed, but it was a long time before Alex finally dragged his eyes away from her to stare accusingly at Joe. </p><p>
  <em> You sold me out. </em>
</p><p>He shook his head, quirking an eyebrow in silent question right back at the kid. Alex blinked and returned the head shake. Great. Neither of them had any intel as to how Lottie Byrne knew that she had invited a terrorist to her table for Thanksgiving. And then had the nerve to fuss at him. </p><p>Aunt Elsie Gaye reached over and settled a hand on Alex’s, which was clenched white-knuckled on the edge of the table. “Now Lottie, he didn’t know the rules,” she chided, “not every family’s as tight lipped as yours.”</p><p>Barry, of course, took that as his excuse to cut across the conversation with his own brilliant insight. “That’s the problem isn’t it, no one’s allowed to talk about anything. Just go along to get along right, Joey?”</p><p>Joe had been through conversations that had the course of the free world in the balance. His younger brother bringing up bad blood that was almost as geriatric as they were wouldn’t get under his skin. “Ask me no questi -“ he began his normal line, but was interrupted by a pained yelp. Barry, shaking his hand and looking chagrined. </p><p>Joe smirked.</p><p>“Rookie. I don’t sit next to Mama for a reason,” he muttered under his breath. She might be ninety but those reflexes hadn’t dulled a second. Any further joy on his part was quickly quelled by a firm squeeze to his knee under the table from Lottie and further by Mama Byrne who turned her glare on the rest of them. He schooled his expression into contrition.</p><p>“I will not have you all acting a fool in front of <em> company, </em>” she snapped, nodding at Alex who still looked like he wanted to crawl under the table to have caused such a scene. Served him right. “There’s spoons in the kitchen and I still know how to use them. Any of y’all want to get smart and find out?”</p><p>A chorus of <em> “no ma’am”- </em>s encircled the table and Joe couldn’t help but feel smug at Alex’s sheepish voice joining in. </p><p>Mama Byrne settled with a firm nod. “Now how ‘bout them cowboys?” </p><p>Alex looked even more lost as the conversation shifted to a rather spirited discussion of ‘handegg’. He followed along as best he could, nodding and smiling in the right places. On anyone else, all would have seemed well. But there was a brittle edge to his silence, rather than the ease of good company. Byrne favored him with a small kick under the table once everyone seemed suitably distracted. </p><p>Wide brown eyes locked with his. “I really am sorry,” Alex whispered. </p><p>“You handled it well,” he replied softly. The kid needed to hear some compliments every once in a while, especially with the minefield he had unknowingly walked into.</p><p>Alex brightened at that. Like a light turning on behind the smile. “You know what my mama always said: ‘be respectful, obey, never argue’.” It was said with the weight of long repetition, and a sly tilt of his brows. </p><p>Between that phrase and the sideways look, several things about the visit clicked into place all at once. </p><p>Joe Byrne barely stifled a laugh, the <em> nerve </em> of this kid to call <em> Yassen Gregorovich </em> ‘mama’. </p><p>For some reason, he had a feeling that the former Head remained unaware of that particular joke. Joe filed this suspicion away for later. Always good to have some blackmail material. You can take the man out of the job… </p><p>His thoughts were interrupted by Lottie, who had obviously been listening to their discussion. standing up pointedly. “Alex dear, would you mind helping me grab something from the kitchen?”</p><p>“I can grab it for you,” Barry offered, no doubt trying to get back into Lottie’s good graces. Good luck with that. </p><p>“Don’t you bother getting up, now,” she hushed, “we wouldn’t want your throwing that back again. Alex is a strapping young man, he wouldn’t mind helping, <em> would you, Alex </em>?”</p><p>Alex shot Joe a helpless look. It was almost cute that he thought he could still be saved. He shook his head. There was no quarter in this house. </p><p>Alex’s face paled noticeably. “No ma’am,” he said, reluctantly standing up and following her out of the room. </p><p>There was a beat of silence before Mama Byrne piped up. “He sure does look hangdog. Would be nice if some others at this table apologized for their actions.”</p><p>Barry started to protest. Joe ignored him, trying to steal a glance into the hallway only to see sister’s arched eyebrow. “I take it he’s one of your boys.” </p><p>It took him a second to process that. He wouldn’t consider Alex Rider “his” anything. “A contractor but yeah, he didn’t have any place to be.”</p><p>She nodded. “Yep, he has your same look.” </p><p>Byrne wasn’t sure what that meant. It was probably a compliment but she didn’t give him much time to think about it before she announced, a little loudly, “I’d love a cup of coffee with dessert. Would you mind putting on a pot while you’re up?”</p><p>He didn’t know whether to kick her or kiss her but wasn’t that just how siblings were supposed to act. He stood up before anyone could say otherwise and stopped just short in the hallway before the creaking boards would give it away. There was a clattering of silverware and Alex’s low voice: “...sorry, I didn’t know it was-“</p><p>The silverware went silent. “Now don’t you go getting yourself all worked up, you couldn’t have known that there’s more than a few live wires in that bunch. Joey caught enough from them over the years, and I had to stop you from poking at the hornet’s nest but I’m not mad, darling.”</p><p>“I still shouldn’t have -“</p><p>“Alex. Honey. We’re movin past this. You were probably still in diapers when all that happened.”</p><p>“I’m not <em> that </em> young,” he huffed.</p><p>“I bet your mama disagrees,” she murmured. Joe wouldn’t have put it past his wife to have put those pieces together as well. From the way Alex didn’t try to correct her, it seemed that they were all on the same page.</p><p>That was confirmed a moment later when Alex asked, “How long have you known?”</p><p>Joe really wanted to know that answer too.</p><p>The silverware was moving again and he could barely hear her over the clattering. “The first time I saw a picture of you, you weren’t shaving.”</p><p>“So he did tell you,” Alex said, accusing. </p><p>Lottie clucked unhappily, “He kept me separate from all of that. I’m sure you know the feeling, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes and ears dear. Your name hasn’t been far from his mouth in a while.”</p><p>“What do you-”</p><p>Lotties was a gossip and Alex was a skilled interrogator with dimples. This was only gonna go poorly for him.</p><p>Joe quickly pushed into the kitchen, stepping heavy on the creaking boards. “Darling, do I need to grind the coffee fresh?”</p><p>Alex looked slightly put out at the interruption, but Lottie was smiling that smile that meant she knew <em> exactly </em> where he’d been lurking. That wasn’t surprising. Nothing ever got past her in <em> her </em> house. </p><p>“No dear, I’ve already got everything all set up. You can go back to the table.” She’d planted her hands on her hips as soon as he came through the door, a signal that she was, always, none too pleased to have Joe invading her kitchen. </p><p>“Well, you know, y’all had a lot on your hands, and I had some requests for coffee,” Joe said. It even had the benefit of being true. </p><p>Lottie wasn’t impressed.</p><p>“I’m sure you did, never seen you get off your ass to do anything before now. If I’d have known having him over would change that, I would have invited him a decade ago,” she huffed.</p><p>She was teasing. Joe could picture it anyways - Alex as he’d first known him, at their table, legs swinging and smile shy. </p><p>“That might have solved a lot of other problems too,” he murmured as he planted a kiss on her cheek.</p><p>“Hey!” Alex looked mildly betrayed. “Like you could have done any better, I was getting the best education money could buy back then.”</p><p>That pulled Joe back to reality. “I thought you got in on a legacy scholarship.” And in more than one sense, too. </p><p>“Not all of us got to have a wild time at college.” </p><p>Joe snorted. He could feel Lottie’s pointed stare.  Maybe he’d had a <em> bit </em> of a wild time before he’d been drafted but Rider didn’t need to know that. “That’s an interesting way to describe Vietnam.” </p><p>Alex looked supremely unimpressed. Byrne could almost feel Alex wanting to make a comment of what <em> he </em> had been doing at that age. </p><p>Lottie coughed pointedly.  “Why don’t you take the silverware out, dear?”</p><p>Alex shot him a confused look, clearly thinking she was talking to Joe. Obviously he was not used to the pet names yet. But his confusion was solved when she pressed the napkins and dessert forks into his hands and shooed him towards the door with a flap of her hands. “Don’t let them distract you out there, now, I’ll still need your help with the torte.”</p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” Alex sulked as he slunk out of the room, miraculously not making a sound on the creaking wooden floors.</p><p>They waited until they heard the burst of noise from the dining room at his reappearance. Joe still stole a look down the hallway to make sure he was <em> really </em> gone. Alex Rider didn’t get to where he was without some stealth. </p><p>“It sure would be rude for <em> him </em> to eavesdrop. Thankfully <em> his </em> mother taught him better.” She said airily as she pointedly sliced the top off a strawberry. He wasn’t sure what was sharper - her tongue or the knife. </p><p>“Old habits die hard,” he shrugged. Gathering intelligence in their home was significantly more fun and less dangerous than in the field. In theory. Except that they had a terrorist handing out dessert plates in the next room.</p><p>“Say what you want to say,” Lottie pressed, slicing more strawberries. Her voice was low, just as wary of curious ears as he was. There wasn’t a shred of judgement in her tone.</p><p>Joe hesitated anyways. That would be a lot easier if he could get the words <em> ‘I would never put you in danger’ </em>out of his mouth. This had all been easier when he thought that Rider would be able to appear and vanish again, unknown by anyone but Joe himself. No matter how pragmatic his wife was, this was still a lot of trouble to drop on her doorstep. But all of these years of marriage weren’t for nothing and her face softened at his no doubt helpless look. </p><p>“He’s a good kid.” She sounded sure of her judgement, turning to face him. Her arms were crossed and her chin was raised, ready to defend Alex Rider to her husband. Part stubbornness and part optimism, it was a quality that had kept her by Joe’s side through plenty of hard years. He was happy to see it again now. </p><p>“I know, it’s good to be reminded that he hasn’t lost that.”</p><p>She uncrossed her arms and stepped closer, lifting up on her toes to peck Joe on the cheek. “You’re good for him. He needs to know that you can come out the other side.”</p><p>Retirement. A warm home. A life that wasn’t spent entirely in threat assessments and hard choices. </p><p>“I had you,” Byrne couldn’t help but point out. </p><p>“So does he.” She returned softly, pointed but gentle.</p><p>“We won’t be around forever.”</p><p>“We won’t have to be. He wouldn’t have come to our door if you hadn’t already left a mark.”</p><p>His heart twisted. He’d spent years wondering if he had done the wrong thing - first in Miami with MI6 and then again with the FBI. There were so many moments where he felt he should have stepped in and stopped this. Regret was familiar in this line of work but with Alex Rider it had never stopped stinging. </p><p>Joe looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling Lottie closer again. As it turned out, he wasn’t quite done kissing her yet. Just a small one, a press of lips to her temple where silver had overtaken her black curls. “You really think I did right by him?”</p><p>“I think you did what you could, and it’s in the Lord’s hands after that.”</p><p>“I love you,” he said softly.  </p><p>He looked over when he saw Lottie’s eyes looking to the hallway. Alex was standing sheepishly by the door. “I can go if you want some privacy.”</p><p>“Nonsense, dear. Why don’t you help Joe with the coffee,” she ordered as she grabbed the torte in its crystal bowl and marched out of the room. </p><p>“Wasn’t I…?” Alex gestured to where Lottie had disappeared, seeming to need no help at all. </p><p>“Don’t ask, son,” Joe said fondly. His wife. </p><p>Alex stilled and stared at him with wide eyes. Joe replayed it in his head and then it clicked but he just clapped him on the shoulder and began putting coffee cups on the tray. </p><p>He’d get used to it. </p><hr/><p>Alex stood and stretched, the meal settling full and heavy inside him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had that much food. It had certainly been a while, maybe one of his early binges when Yassen would let him off post operation?</p><p>He had gotten better, partially because he needed to be in top form at all times. He hadn’t over indulged necessarily - a little of everything to make sure to soothe his hostess’ feelings. Alex had managed the casseroles and the turkey and even the gravy that had been made from the drippings. </p><p>It was the desserts at the end that had done him in.</p><p>Lottie’s torte and the cheesecake that Earlene has brought (<em> “trying to look fancy, </em> ” his hostess had murmured under her breath) and the <em> pies </em>. Some that Lottie had made, but others that arrived with the guests. Pumpkin and apple and bourbon pecan, with caramelised golden-brown sugar on the top. Rhubarb and lemon chess, tart enough to pucker his lips. All served with vanilla ice cream or homemade whipped cream. Alex hadn’t allowed himself so much sugar at once in years, not that he had much of a choice. Lottie had caught him trying to take the smallest slivers before snatching his plate from his hand and piling it high with all manner of things.</p><p>Being put on the spot and asked which he preferred had been its own special form of RTI - there was no right answer. Byrne had, thankfully, had mercy and nodded to which was Lottie’s so that he could have one last slice and escape relatively unscathed. But now, Alex was just as tired as everyone else lazily moving away from the table. Prying himself from his seat felt like a lot of work.</p><p>Realistically, he knew that he needed to leave. The San Diego operation wasn’t going to start itself and Sagitta was undoubtedly getting twitchy but… his eye caught on Lottie, studying him with sharp eyes. </p><p>“You won’t be going until I’ve packed up a plate for you and your men,” she told him like a fact. “I make it a point to take care of Joe’s, so there’s always plenty extra. And I’ll bet none of them are headed home after this, either.” </p><p>Alex stared at Lottie, stunned into silence before he remembered his manners and nodded.</p><p>Unused to kindness like that. </p><p>He should at the very least go watch her make the plates, make sure nothing got slipped in, but he doubted he’d be allowed in the kitchen. It wasn’t worth arguing, not when Sagitta wouldn’t take a bite of the food anyways. Not unless Alex threatened to eat it instead, at which point Marcus would kick up a fuss about being ‘his taster’. Alex had gotten over that quickly.</p><p>Instead he just looked helplessly around for something to do. </p><p>Joe took pity on him. “They’re starting a game of canasta in the living room, kids are playing Uno...” Alex blinked, he hadn’t heard that name in a while. “Or I was planning on heading to the back porch to get away from the madness,” Joe finished, voice carefully casual. </p><p>Alex doubted that had actually been Joe’s plan. He struck him as someone who would want to be at the card table, sleeves rolled up, counting cards like a mad man. Alex took the olive branch for what it was and returned it with a small smile. </p><p>“Outside sounds good.” </p><p>The porch was small and screened in, looking out over a neatly kept garden and gnarled silver oaks that dotted the pine straw islands in the landscaping. Byrne took his place in one of the two rocking chairs, leaving the other - wood worn and varnished stripped, a set of spare knitting needles sitting primly on the table next to it - open for Alex to take a seat. Lottie’s spot.</p><p>The steady creak of the wood was the only sound aside from short bursts of laughter from inside that made him tense every time. The chaos of the dinner table had been easier to navigate than this punctuated tranquility. Alex shifted in his seat as the silence dragged on too long, with how fast paced his life was now there was rarely a moment not taken up. He was surprised at just how uncomfortable it made him. </p><p>Alex used his toe to push the rocker faster, turning the creak of wood-on-wood to a clatter. Byrne cottoned on to his nerves and turned his head, taking Alex in with a knowing look. </p><p>“Listen, kid, you’ve worked all day, every day for the last decade. If you want to be Orion and talk work, then I can be Byrne and talk it too. But I invited Alex Rider into my house and I’d much rather chat with him about his flight, or his impressions of the absolute train wreck that is my family, or even the damn weather. But that’s your call.” </p><p>It took him a while to process just what, exactly that meant. </p><p>There weren’t many who knew that there was a difference between Orion and Alex Rider and even less who preferred to hear from “just” Alex. </p><p>Even then their interests were never on anything so inconsequential as the weather - if he’d been injured, how he was doing or ‘holding up’ were far more common questions for Alex to field. He knew they came from a place of concern, but this… this was a gift.</p><p>Something he could really give thanks for.</p><p>Alex leaned back, in the rocking chair, gently gnawing on the toothpick Lottie gave him after the table had been cleared.  “So, Joe,” he paused, turning to look at him, “how ‘bout them Cowboys?”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We hope y’all are doing well and staying safe. With so much going on in the world right now, there’s so many who can’t go home to their families, so we’re once again opening the doors to ours. </p><p>Christmas is soon to come, and you know Lottie ain’t gon let Alex get away that easy. Stay tuned for “Side Byrnes” and “Georgia on my Mind” to keep your heart warm this winter.</p><p>Love, </p><p>Ahuuda and Valak</p><p>Note: Yes, the pies and cheesecakes are ours they ain’t perfect but neither are we. They do taste good (allegedly) would love to have y’all by to find out</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Side Byrne: Putting the ‘Thanks’ in Thanksgiving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <b>Columbus, GA 10:27AM 3 days PT (Post Thanksgiving)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It took three days before the chaos finally died down for Joe was shooed outside while Lottie gave the house a good deep post-company clean. He hadn’t even been allowed back in to grab his laptop to write his book, or to grab any book. He contented himself with his newest and least mentally taxing hobby - whittling. Joe just knew that he was becoming a pro, and he’d only started three hours ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lottie would, no doubt, be thrilled to clean the shavings off her porch but that’s what she deserved for stranding him with only his phone and his Fairbyrn Sykes for company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost heaved a sigh of relief when his phone dinged, thinking it was a release back inside, but the noise quickly turned into a huff of amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Thanks for Thanksgiving.’</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Byrne considered his response. A text message usually wouldn’t be enough as a ‘thank you’, but for Alex, Lottie would make an exception. She was soft for the kid for some reason that Byrne couldn’t fathom and hadn’t been able to pull from her despite the sheer number of times he had poked and prodded the topic since Thursday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have waited too long to respond because his phone dinged again: </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I know it sounds duplicative but Adams wasn’t very helpful on how to thank someone for this, any advice?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I charge $1000 an hour for consulting,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Joe returned, sweeping some of the shavings into a pile with the side of his foot. He got his response seconds later before he even had time to make a half-hearted effort to scoop them into his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Deal.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘That was not an offer.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid knew that, he hoped, but it wouldn’t hurt to put it in writing. Alex Rider was nothing if not thorough. Leaving a standing invitation, even a sarcastic one, was dangerous. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Sure sounded like one. I’m always looking for good talent. I’ve had some pretty decent ones from you over the years.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t wrong. Byrne had lost plenty to SCORPIA. He’d also gotten a few people saved from the kid. Witpro was a wonderful thing. Didn’t mean he was ready to admit to it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘This isn’t how to thank someone for opening their home to you.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>‘😰💖😇’</b>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Rider sign for ‘conversation over’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that was that. Joe set his phone down and picked his stick back up, carving a slow line down the whittled tip. Lottie would honestly just be thrilled that Alex had reached out. It was more than either of them could really expect given the circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone dinged again, just as Joe was getting ready to smooth out the knob where a twig had once stood. Huffing, he sat his knife back down and settled the branch in his lap. Rider really should have better things to do than messaging an old man.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘But really. How can I say thank you without, you know, getting you on a watch list.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn if the kid wasn’t sincere. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I run the watch list. But a thank you card’ll do.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a taunt. Always good to leave Rider some bait to see if he’d bite; it had been a good indication in the past of where the kid’s head was at. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘To your address?’</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Joe pushed, staring at the phone with more confusion than he had any right. Rider wouldn’t have texted if he didn’t mean it didn’t mean he wasn't surprised at how genuine he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Yeah, kid Langley would be a bad call. I assume you have the address still.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Can I send money with it? For your consulting services.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doubted that was all the money Rider would send. Kid had plenty. Joe wouldn’t be surprised to find a stack of hundreds in a box, turning up under Lottie’s rocking chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘No. I have to draw the line at accepting blood money.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Sure seemed like you cashed plenty of checks from the CIA.’</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Great, the attitude was back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was tempted to set his phone down and focus on his whittling but after all these years he knew better. Rider cared more than he ever wanted to admit about the impression he left people with. No way that he’d end it there when he was trying to make nice. And sure enough, it wasn’t long before Joe got another chime.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Thanks for having me over, Uncle Joe. I’ll get a card out to you.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘No identifying information.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>It went without saying in their line of work, and advising Alex Rider to be careful was almost insulting. But the kid had also chanced dropping by his house for Thanksgiving so Joe didn’t want to risk him slipping up on this. Harboring terrorists wasn’t exactly a charge he wanted him or Lottie to catch, even if it was for a good cause. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘From which identity? </span>
  </em>
  <span>😂</span>
  <em>
    <span>’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hysterical. Kid had jokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Any of them. Particularly whichever one you’re using for whatever the hell we have you doing in San Diego.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Martino had been the one to reach out to see if he had heard from Rider, of all things. No matter how many times Joe protested he wasn’t the kid’s handler no one seemed to believe him. Right now, he was beginning to understand why. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Will do. You might have your friends consider looking into the McCoys there in your home state, heard some rumblings about their new operation.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>puns</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But good information nonetheless - some Texan oil tycoons wanting to blow something up. Great. Glad it wasn’t his problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I didn’t have you over to exchange intel.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Joe thought that point had been made clear. Not that he was opposed to helping to avoid a potential terrorist attack. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Consider it an early Christmas present.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Intel is not a good Christmas present for a retired man.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mainly because Martino might wonder where he had gotten it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe he wouldn’t care, as long as it proved reliable. Likely that one. Sometimes it was best not to ask questions in their profession. And he probably would figure it out anyways. The connection with Rider was the least of Joe’s skeletons. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I can get you another if you’d prefer…’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Like Rider, Joe knew bait when he saw it and that wasn’t a door he wanted to open. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Can’t believe I’m saying this but shouldn’t you be working?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘It’s on your dime so  probably.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Explained why Alex had felt safe enough to stop by. He essentially had a pass as long as the collateral stayed to a minimum and no one made a fuss. Joe was more relieved than he’d expected at that - the thought of Rider finally getting nailed down because of something as silly as coming by on a holiday rankled only a little less than Joe’s worries about the blowback on him and Lottie. If he didn’t respond, maybe Rider would just decide to do his job… whatever that was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The peace and quiet lasted longer, this time. The pile of wood shavings grew, and Joe managed to turn his stick from something that was wiggly and pointy to something that was relatively straight and pointy. Maybe a fire was in order. Work this fine just begged to be used, Joe figured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preferably for marshmallows. Since he was retired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he was testing the tip against the pad of his thumb, Joe heard his phone again. Twice in quick succession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell Lottie thank you,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then:</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘Please’.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the manners weren’t just for show. Joe couldn’t help the tiny smile on his face as he replied, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Will do, kiddo.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just some shorts to cheer us and everyone else up</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Carefully Carded</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Side Byrne: Carefully Carded </p><p>
  <b>Washington, D.C. 8:13PM, December 20th. 4 years PT (Pre-Thanksgiving)</b>
</p><p>“Joey?” </p><p>
  <em> Of all the luck. </em>
</p><p>Joe hesitated and looked up. Trying to move slowly, as if his wife might not notice him creeping around. “Yes, dear?” </p><p>“Is that a card I see?” Lottie Byrne was not a woman given to asking questions she knew the answers to, but something about her tone let her husband know that this might be an exception to that rule.</p><p>The room was dim, lit mostly by the spangled christmas lights that twinkled in the window. Maybe he could still get away with this.</p><p>“It’s...” he trailed off. Joe could lie to many people, but never his wife. Not since they were both starry-eyed kids just falling in love. “It’s a prank card, more than anything,” he justified instead. It was <em> mostly </em>the truth.</p><p>She pulled up at the hedged statement, eyes going wide in alarm. “Is it something dangerous? A threat?” She asked fretfully. </p><p>Lottie was usually a hard woman to ruffle, but she’d gotten used to having him home safe. Of course she’d worry. Joe could kill Rider for this. But more than anything, he wanted to reassure his wife.</p><p>“No, it’s already been checked,” he consoled her, “it’s-” </p><p>“-perfectly fine being on the front table with the other cards, then,” she transitioned smoothly. The worried furrow smoothed out, replaced with an arched brow.</p><p>Joe could have spat nails at that. He had been <em> had </em>. Awful woman. </p><p>But then, that’s why he’d married her. Just as smart as him but with more patience for the nonsense that seemed to be generated by their lives and his job. Things that had seen them through the years and kept their home on a tight track. </p><p>“It’s a little… politically charged.” </p><p>Lottie hummed. “We put up Harry’s and his had a picture of you at the Senate Hearing with your name on the naughty list next to it for, and I quote, <em> ‘lying like a rug’ </em>.” </p><p>Joe remembered that particular card. He’d sent a picture of it to Alex himself, snickering the whole time. <em> This </em>had apparently been the answer to the challenge. The kid had outdone himself. </p><p>“I just really don’t think it’s appropriate given who it’s from,” Joe said. He tried to inject his tone with the right amount of understated severity that would paint a picture of top-secret matters of state and clandestine affairs. That trick had been his tool of choice in the past, shutting down any line of inquiry that got too close to either black site operations or an overly long lunch on the company dime. </p><p>Lottie didn’t seem too impressed with his warning. “Oh? And who is that?” </p><p>“Classified.” The answer slid off his tongue with a practiced ease. </p><p>“I see,” She said, clearly seeing too much and not liking any of it. “I suppose you really can’t tell me, since it has state secrets...” The way she was eyeing the card made it obvious she thought that there was no such thing inside.</p><p>In all honesty, there wasn’t much. The tacky punchline, Rider’s barely legible signature... and a 24K gold foil scorpion with a dollar store Santa hat sticker on it. </p><p>“Just a bad joke. And a signature,” he groused. Joe felt just as grumpy to be caught out by Lottie as he had been when opening the card. </p><p>“Then you can just redact that, can’t you?” </p><p>The ‘<em> it wouldn’t be the first time’ </em> hung heavily in the air. Lottie didn’t usually tease him about his work, but he had to hand it to her: when she did, she got in the good hits. Sometimes it was because he’d gone too long without coming home. Others, because she’d seen him as disrespecting the home. <em> Her </em> home.</p><p>“Does it mean that much to you?” He said resignedly. </p><p>“Only because it means that much to you, dear-” He opened his mouth to protest. “-since you do save them every year.” Joe clicked his mouth shut again. </p><p>Well, hell. </p><p>He’d been found out. “Alright. But you can’t laugh,” he huffed, and handed her over the card. </p><p>She gingerly took it and then immediately covered her mouth with a hand. At first it seemed like shock, but then a small giggle slipped out between her fingers. She was obviously trying to keep her composure, and failing miserably. The card shook at him as her whole body trembled with amusement. He didn’t think he was imagining the menacing glint to the gilded scorpion, </p><p>“<em> Lottie </em> .” Joe couldn’t help the betrayal in his voice. He had <em> trusted </em> her.</p><p>“Oh Joey, you have to admit that’s good!” She waved the card at him, beaming.</p><p>She wasn’t wrong. Given who it was from, it was nearly hysterical. But she didn’t even know the full story. Joe almost grabbed the card back when she flipped it over, but stopped cold as he saw the silent ‘oh’ of recognition wash over her face.</p><p>“Oh, <em> Alex </em>,” she murmured. More to herself than asking him a question.</p><p>Byrne went still. </p><p>There were plenty of people named Alex in the world. Part of the reason that tracing Rider’s identities had been infuriating in those first years had been how damn <em> common </em> his first name was. A pattern they all knew but couldn’t ever follow. But there was no reason that his wife should find anything unusual about. Her using that tone of voice in regard to Orion was… troubling.</p><p>“How do you know that name.” He tried to keep this casual, not letting on to the sliver of suspicion in his chest. It was probably unfounded. Just the type of baseless paranoia that meant so few of his colleagues could sustain a life outside the agency in the first place. Joe had fought hard to keep those instincts outside his home. </p><p>Lottie shrugged, still studying the card. The signature, more precisely. “I’ve heard you mention him before.” </p><p>“Where?” There were only a few places - a call or his texts - both of which were undertaken carefully, and neither of which she was supposed to be seeing.</p><p>She wasn’t quelled in the slightest. “Oh, you know, just some conversations you’ve been havin’ with the man upstairs… and I don’t mean the president,” she finished. Hand on hip, eyebrow cocked, looking no kind of impressed with the way his hackles had risen up at her. </p><p>
  <em> Oh Lord. </em>
</p><p>“You’re usually asleep when I come in,” he defended himself. He had grown up praying out loud. It hadn’t changed when he had gotten married. </p><p>The look she leveled his way went right past amused and into skepticism. Alright, so maybe he was wrong.  </p><p>“Of course I am, darling. Now can you show me the rest of the cards since we’re done with that little ‘classified’ talk?” </p><p>“I don’t think that’s necessary, Lottie-love, they’re just some silly cards,” he tried, a lilt to his voice. The pet name that he’d used since they were both in school at Howard together. He couldn’t lie, but sometimes he could sweet talk her just a bit. </p><p>“Joseph. Byrne. Do you want to try that again?” </p><p>This was apparently not one of those times.</p><p>“Charlotte -“ </p><p>She didn’t hesitate, didn’t soften at his suddenly wary expression. “If you want to sleep in our bed, you <em> will </em> show me those cards. This is not a matter of national security, there is no ‘classified information’ for you to hide behind, which means this is a Byrne household problem. You may have the rest of the country, but here you are <em> mine </em>.”</p><p>No arguing with that, was there?</p><p>“Yes, dear,” he said and began sorting through the file folder only to have her snatch it from his hand. </p><p>“I hope you’ve at least had the decency to send a card back,” she sassed, settling primly into her chair. “If you would just turn on the light, hun.” </p><p>That was when Joe knew the worst was still ahead of him. In that folder there were more than a few scattered birthday and Christmas cards that Rider had sent him, and those didn’t even touch the tacky tourist postcards, signed with only an<em> ‘A’ </em>bastardized into a star. His heart froze as he remembered the surveillance photos paperclipped on top. An informal record of the places Rider’s career took him to. He eyed the folder, considering his options. If he could accomplish nothing else, those needed to come off. </p><p>She must have sensed him getting smart from where she was eyeing a particularly tacky birthday card with a handlebar mustache emblazoned on the front. “I imagine the couch will be real bad for that back of yours,” she mused, setting the card back down and picking up another.</p><p>He did <em> not </em> look forward to Lottie’s cooing over Rider’s cards. She’d yet to see a charity case she didn’t want to bring to their table. Martino had only escaped adoption by the skin of his teeth. Joe had yet to escape hearing about it. </p><p>He just hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with that with Rider too.</p><p>He could already see her sizing him up for a sweater. <br/><br/><br/><br/></p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Drone’t Forget to Send Santa Your Christmas List!!!</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hope you had fun Putin up the tree!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just dropping in to wish you a fly Christmas, Uncle Joe!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since we cannot have every person in the fandom over to be given a proper Southern Thanksgiving much to our chagrin please accept this as our way of thanking all y’all and sharing a little bit of our culture in these COVID times. We do actually get into Alex showing up at the house next chapter but by God we cackled for 4 hours plotting the backstory that got us started on this entire disaster so y’all have to suffer through it. </p><p>Thanks as always to Pongs for letting us play in her sandbox and to Galimau who cannot edit this note so I can express my eternal gratitude for her lovely self.</p><p>And a thank you to Valak, who invited me to be coauthor on this and who shares my Thanksgiving sensibilities, except for handegg, which I cannot play at all.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>